Game over
by NairobiWonders
Summary: I thought I was done with this story, but apparently more needed to be said. This is as angsty as I get, but it still falls on the lighter side of joanlock. It may help if you've read "First," "Second," "Rounding Third" etc. but this can also stand on its own, I think.


She bounded down the stairs, almost ready for her run, heading for the kitchen to get her water. It would have helped ease the shock if she had heard them before walking in on them, but her earbuds were in place blasting her pre-run pump up music. Joan froze at the scene before her. The twins looked very much the same as the last time she met them, wearing Holmes' shirts, bare long legs and making themselves very much at home. One was at the stove, the other served breakfast to Sherlock who sat shirtless at the table. Joan was stunned then nauseous, confused, angry - emotions cycled through her in quick succession.

"Ah, Watson, there you are! Care to join us for some homemade pancakes? The Lynch sisters are extraordin..." Holmes abruptly stopped as he noted Watson's reaction.

Joan tamped down the wave of nausea and tried to control the tears that were welling, the flush of anger, the lightheadedness, the desire to cut out Sherlock's heart with a butter knife. She went numb. She shut down. Her eyes were blank as she stared at Holmes. Joan breathed out a "no thank you" as she turned and aimed her body towards the kitchen door - the quickest exit she could find.

Sherlock took it all in and reached a hand out to stop her as she passed by, "Watson, what is the matter ..." She avoided his reach and navigated out the door on instinct, her vision blurry from the tears she held in. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The Lynch sisters oblivious to what had just happened chatted away. It took Holmes a beat to process what was wrong with Watson because sometimes even he, given all the data, couldn't put two and two together, especially when it came to human emotions.

Suddenly he jumped up, "Oh!" and in two steps was at the door, "No, no, no, no...Watson! Watson!" She was nowhere in sight. Joan had started running from the second her foot hit the threshold, using every ounce of anger to propel her body forward and away from him, from them, as quickly as possible.

Sherlock debated whether to run after her, not sure he could catch her and not sure he could restrain her even if he did. The honking of a horn jarred him back in place. The sisters were heading towards his bedroom to get dressed, "our car service is here," "thanks, Sherlock." He stood at the door expressionless, turned inward, trying to process what had just happened and what he should do next.

Joan ran and kept running, trusting her body to take her far away from the pain. "What had just happened? Why did he ... Didn't he tell me he ... His hand ... on mine ... Did I misunderstand ... The kiss ... the kisses ... Did I do something ... " Half thoughts washed through her head bringing a searing sadness that pooled in her throat forcing her to stop. She was at a small park, where exactly she wasn't sure. She found a good strong tree, sat at its base, made herself as small as possible and dropped her head onto her bent knees. Now that she could allow the tears to fall, they would not come. Rationality came to the forefront and took control, determined to make sense of what had just occurred.

With the sisters gone, Holmes stood frozen and pondered his best course of action. Should he call her or no, texting might be better - less chance of uncontrolled emotional outbursts that way.

He texted her "misund cm bk hm." He hit send and almost immediately heard a phone chime behind him on the desk. Dammit! She left her phone. Her wallet sat next to the phone. Well at least she wouldn't get very far. Right, waiting for her appeared to be the sensible thing to do. He picked up a few books, staked out a spot on the stairs and stared at the front door. His mind wandered to where she might have gone, what if she were hurt, would she come back, would she listen to what he had to say - his emotions now cycling from disbelief to sadness to anger.

Joan picked herself up, dusted herself off and started back home because it was her home. She had decided that the work, partnership and friendship were the most important facet of her relationship with Sherlock. Romantic love was a silly complication and she would learn to deal with the jealousy. The feelings would fade in time. All scars heal eventually. She was quite adept at lying to herself.

Watson had been gone for over an hour now. Holmes could sit no longer and was considering calling Alphonso to wait at the brownstone while he went searching for her. The door opened and Sherlock jumped. He was in front of her before she had a chance to close the door. "Are you alright Watson?" he asked as he did his visual exam.

"Yes. Fine." Not meeting his gaze, she tried to get by him and go upstairs.

"No, Watson. We need to talk. Now." He took her by the hand and lead her into the other room.

She objected "We have nothing to talk about," as she tried to pull out of his grasp.

He steered her to the couch in the next room and sat her down. "As much as it grieves me to say this, haptic communication apparently has its limitations."

She wanted to run away again. She couldn't meet his eyes, afraid she would cry or let all the venom she was feeling come spewing out. His eyes in turn were open wide and taking as much of her in as he could.

"You misunderstood this morning. You took in the correct information and came to the wrong conclusion." He was keeping his voice as calm and matter of fact as he could.

She looked at him coldly, "Sherlock, you are a grown man. It's not up to me to make conclusions about your activities. It has nothing to do with me."

Joan's words pierced Holmes. All the fear and anger he had been trying to mask for her sake came spilling out. "Oh, oh really? That, that is just lovely, Watson! You are saying you don't care what I do? Hmm? So I am now free to shoot up and whoremonger myself into a stupor." He suddenly took a step towards her, "Did we not stand in this very room not more than a week ago, hmm? ... and express mutual ... and what I believed to be very strong feelings for each other, hmm? And now you are telling me you don't care?"

Joan could contain herself no longer, she jumped up off the sofa. "Don't turn this around on me Sherlock! You, you are the one who has no feelings." A sob escaped her and she hated herself for crying in front of him. "How could you? In our home ... While I was sleeping upstairs, you brought in Thing One and Thing Two to what, perform further experiments!" She tried to leave but he stopped her, holding her by the wrists.

His anger melted at her tears "Watson, stop, just stop. Listen to me. Your deductions are completely incorrect. Yes, the sisters spent the night." Joan turned her face away. Sherlock continued trying to make eye contact as he emphasized his next words , "but that is all they did. They called around one a.m. seeking the benefits of our previous arrangement. They had been at a club and needed a place to spend the night. They were quite inebriated."

She dropped her head, a curtain of black hiding her face, and whispered, "I don't want hear this, please stop."

He stopped. Tears were falling onto his hands as they held onto hers. He couldn't stand to see her in so much pain; pain that she perceived he had caused her. Sherlock felt tears begin to escape his own eyes and he knew he needed to get this out quickly for both their sakes.

In his softest voice, his eyes wide, focused completely on her, he said, "I informed the good sisters that I was no longer available to pursue our previous activities. That I was, or at that point thought I was, spoken for." Joan lifted her head, her eyes searched his, needing to assure herself of what he had just said. He glanced down at her hands in his and then quickly up to her face lingering on her eyes, her lips.

"Nothing happened. They slept in my room. I slept upon that very sofa. Understand?" He said gently.

She nodded. "I thought that your feelings for me weren't ... " she stopped and shook her head trying to stop the stupid tears, "... That you didn't reciprocate the kind of ... Feelings I have for you... We never ... "

It hurt him to see his strong companion like this, so full of self doubt. This lack of proper communication had to stop. "Watson, look at me. I am yours body, mind and soul, whether you want me or not. You are an integral part of my being."

The kiss started tentative and gentle and built in depth and passion until they could hardly stand. Sherlock positioned them so they fell on the sofa, he on top of Watson and the rest of the world faded except for her. He picked up his head for a second just to look into her eyes and that's when it happened. Holmes found himself flat on the floor in front of the couch with Watson on top of him, restraining him, her face right up to his.

"Don't you ever put me through this again Sherlock Holmes or there will be hell to pay," she said through gritted teeth.

Shock registered on Holmes' face quickly replaced by a half smile, and a lecherous tone, "Ah Watson, just when I thought I couldn't love you any more than I do." He flipped her over on her back and in so doing knocked the desk with his shoulder. Files and papers tumbled over them like their own personal fireworks.

Morning at the brownstone.

"We have to talk."

He dropped his head into the journal he was reading, "No Watson no! Absolutely not. There will be no more talking between us for the next month."

"I'm serious Sherlock."

"So am I."

She ignored him and continued. "I'll make this as quick and painless as possible. We are monogamous, yes?"

He looks at her, "I am, how about you?" She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes. Just checking."

She looks a little hesitant about her next statement.

"Spit it out Watson!"

"I'd like to keep this relationship just between us."

"Hmm, too bad, I was hoping to ask the Lynch sisters to join us on occasion." He said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She slapped his arm and glared at him, "Not funny. And not what I meant. I would prefer it if the rest of the world didn't know how close we are. Particularly the department."

"Are you ashamed of me?" he asked semi-seriously.

"No, of course not. But I want to be taken seriously for what I do as a consulting detective and not be trivialized because of my personal relationship with you. Do you understand?"

"I do, but it is extremely difficult to hide these sort of things, body language, eyes, give couples away. Anyway, it may be a moot point. I think half the department decided long ago that we sleep together ... The other half think I'm having a torrid affair with Bell." He smiles, then gets serious, "Agreed, this is just between us, no snogging in public for us! It's probably safer for you that way too. You never know who is watching..."


End file.
